From Sea to Shining Sea
by RinKagaminer
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was once naive and stupid, before that was stripped from him like wings from a bird. In fact, he's realized that heroes and villains aren't so clear cut- that medals and honor no longer matter to him. He wants to fly the ocean forever, and never face his corrupt fate. WW2, atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Lots of OOC-ness. Hopefully not many inaccuracies. One-shot.


Alfred had never realized how beautiful the stars were, how beautiful the indigo waves and relieving silence were.

Perhaps he had never stopped to think about such things. But now, alone with the sea and the steel bird, he had all the time in the world.

Then again, there was an important passenger on this plane.

Alfred patted the metal interior, praying she could get them- and their passenger- there. It felt almost too much to ask for.

"If you could just allow us to complete our mission, that'd sure be swell. Wouldn't it? We're relying on you."

No, Alfred was not alone. He was one of the crew on board, and accompanied by two other planes. Even so, he found himself simply responding without thinking. Listening to their words almost mechanically. Waiting for his turn.

To him, he was alone.

It felt like the world could never change. If Alfred stayed there forever, nothing would- the waves would keep rolling, the moon would dangle in the sky, the stars would twinkle.

In fact, he realized... he wanted nothing but that.

In a matter of hours, however, the world would never be the same again.

Alfred told himself that it wasn't his fault, that this was his duty. They chose him for this mission. Wasn't that an honor?

Ha.

Alfred could remember a time when he'd been naive and stupid. When he'd wanted to take on the world, in all its cruelty. When he'd wanted to be the hero, the one whose name was remembered long after they were obliviated.

He wasn't so sure now.

He wasn't so sure if what he was doing was immoral, whether he was the hero or the villain.

He was no longer naive and stupid. Alfred had realized that reality wasn't black and white- but more of a grey, shapeless entity. That there were, in fact, no true "heroes" or "villains".

If his life were a book, he decided, then the hero would not be him. The human race would be both a hero and a villain in itself. Alfred would be only a bystander, side character whose life wasn't worth a brass penny. Either way, it didn't matter. His fate was not up to him to decide. It was the author's, though he wasn't so sure that there was one.

"If there really is a God," Alfred murmured to no one in particular, "then I would like to hear your motives."

God did not respond. But if he had, Alfred felt that God would've laughed.

"How wonderful it sounds," he thought with envy, "to be able to laugh freely at the human race."

Time passed, and the flaming sun rose on the horizon. Silver flew into reds and blues and mixed in harmony.

He knew he couldn't, but he wanted to get closer to the deep navy water, to the rolling waves who had not a care. The water didn't question the morality of its actions. It simply swallowed up, gave birth, sustained, destroyed. The Pacific Ocean was a silly name- it was like calling the human race "Peaceful Earthlings".

Alfred could remember a time when he'd been naive and stupid. When he thought the world was forgiving, perfect, loving. He'd been a lucky kid, raised in a place not hit by poverty. He'd had a childhood. He'd once been angelic, before that was stripped from him like wings from a bird.

Desperately, he'd tried to get his wings back.

And that's how Alfred had ended up a pilot, in this plane parallel to Pacific Ocean waves. It was the one place in the world that did not seem corrupt.

Alfred had undergone many changes recently, not just emotionally; his once shiny blonde hair was no longer amber waves of grain, and it seemed to be messier and more unkept... if that was possible; his deep blue eyes were not quite so shiny and bright, and they sagged from being deprived of sleep. Even his skin seemed to have taken a toll. His face was paler, almost sickly. He was no longer the blissfully pure child.

This was what war could do to a person.

Memories always flooded him when he was off the ground, of days long past, before the war. Of days where he had his own wings.

_ "Someday, I'm gonna be a great pilot like my daddy!"_

_ "Someday, I'm gonna save the world! Just watch me!"_

That "someday" had come, but not in the way he had expected. Alfred was not a little boy fighting off monsters with sticks and toy planes. Alfred was not saving the world. He was destroying it- yet would still be recognized as a hero. He did not want a medal for bravery. Who cared about bravery, anyway? There were more important things, more things overlooked.

In fact, he realized… That if heroes were measured by bravery, wouldn't villains be just as much?

Alfred used to value his country, his patriotic attitude. Now, he no longer seemed to value anything. German or American, Brit or Italian, French or even Japanese... humans were humans. Hitler did not represent the Germans. Hirohito did not represent the Japanese. Heck, Harry Truman did not represent the Americans. Nor did his decision.

The very decision that had put Alfred and his crew in the middle of the ocean.

They hadn't been saying much. Alfred sat in the back, not uttering a word, waiting for his turn to fly. The young men found it was better that way.

After all, silence itself wasn't corrupt. Only when silence is to be disturbed- perhaps from an atomic explosion- can it be corrupted.

Unless, of course, the silence was caused by something unspeakable.

Alfred did not want to think about that silence, following the ear-splitting explosion, and what it would mean. No, he didn't want to feel that choking knot rising from his stomach to his throat. He didn't want to be suffocated by his own guilt.

So he threw that regret out the window, to be absorbed by roaring waves. They were approaching land fast, so he said a silent goodbye to the sea- to his sinking guilt.

The silence they valued was soon disturbed. The crew was picking up a signal, most likely an air raid alert. Alfred listened intently to the hum of the Japanese broadcast, though he couldn't understand. He decided he was thankful for that, or else he might sense the sinking feeling return. The broadcast ended soon, and the crew assumed that an all-clear had been sound.

All went well. As well as it could go, until the time finally came.

Alfred stood, not letting them see his weakness, and strode to the front. The pilot handed over the controls.

It was his turn to fly the plane.

He felt a familiar rush of adrenaline as he placed his hands in the right spots. Normally, he loved the feeling- of being free, of having wings. But today, his wings were heavy and streaked with wrongdoing.

Alfred wondered how he could possibly fly.

In a little over five minutes, it would all be over. He focused on nothing but his job. Getting it done, getting it over with, forgetting it ever happened...

But he knew he'd never forget.

Silver sped over greens and blues, over shining cities, mixing in sickening harmony.

Alfred responded mechanically, let his hands move with the impulse. He had not the time to think about anything else.

Not until the release. Not until they'd reached their target and the doors had been opened... not until the bomb dropped, about to kill tens of thousands. Not until he propelled the plane out of the area as fast as possible.

It felt like the world would never change- that he would be stuck in the heat of this moment forever. He could not picture going home to New York, could not picture ever leaving this plane. He could only watch as his life fled, as his memories swirled in his head... Of birds, of wings, of love and stars and ocean spray. Of flames, of guilt, of scars and wars and evil.

He wondered if he had finally regained his wings.

_ "I'd like to say I have no regrets... I'd like to say that this was war."_

War, it was. Horrible, it was. But whether it had been his doing or not, Hiroshima would've faced the same fate.

_ "I'd like to die with no regrets."_

Alfred knew that was not possible. Not only did he carry the fate of thousands, but the fate of his crew. He carried the fate of one who deeply loved him, holding their breath until his return.

And he carried the fate of a young man caught up in the maelstrom of war- a young man who was no different. Had he been born in a different time, he might have been content. _They _might have been…

* * *

><p><strong>"I hope you're happy."<strong>

* * *

><p>He had three seconds before his world exploded.<p> 


End file.
